Archive of Our Own

Pansy stood outside of the Longbottom Manor, her knuckles against the door. She took a long deep breath in. 

Then a long deep breath out.

In. 

Out. 

In

Out.

She could do this. It was just Ginny. Ginny was her friend, and even if she was Ron’s sister, they were still close. Somewhat. Mostly thanks to Ginny’s stubbornness and incessant nagging to meet up for dinner, drinks, this or that event. Pansy was grateful for Ginny's commitment to preserving the friendship they had built, she really was, but sometimes she also felt overwhelmed by it. Sometimes she just wanted to escape, hide somewhere where nobody knew her or about any of her failures.

But she couldn’t keep avoiding it, couldn’t keep punishing herself by stonewalling everyone, everything good in her life. Besides, it was just dinner. She could handle dinner.

She went to knock on the door again, actually this time, when it swung open to reveal Ginny on the other side.

“Oh!” She said cheerfully. “You’re here! Great timing, I was just about to send you a howler.”

“A howler?” Pansy raised her brow. 

Ginny nodded emphatically. 

“A howler,” she accentuated. “Not a patronus.”

Pansy couldn’t help but laugh at Ginny’s serious tone, the look on her face. She also couldn’t deny how much she’d missed her, how comforting the greeting felt.

“Hi Gin,” she said with an oomph as Ginny pulled her into a soul crushing hug. 

“Hi. I’m so happy you’re here. Come in!” 

Pansy was swept into the home Ginny shared with Neville, a place she had been avoiding for a few weeks, okay, months, before Ginny had finally convinced her to come over to share a meal. Neville stood at the corner, his hands tucked into his trousers, and nodded in greeting as she walked into the living area.

“So,” Ginny said casually, leading her through the doors. “It’s just a few people. Nev and I. You, of course. We thought we’d host in the garden since it’s warm today.”

Pansy should have known better. She should have sensed it, detected that mischievous note in Ginny’s voice, noticed how the entire Manor seemed to be empty but for the three of them even though she’d been invited there for a dinner party. But it was already too late. As soon as she stepped into the garden, she saw the hint of reddish-copper hair and knew she’d walked right into the trap that had been set for her.

“And oh. I forgot to tell you. Haha! We also invited Ron! Actually, we only invited you and Ron,” Ginny said hurriedly, pushing Pansy out into the yard before she could make sense of what was happening and protect herself.

Pansy froze, turning toward her friend, enemy, whom she was absolutely going to kill later. 

No. 

Now. 

Immediately. 

“Ginny,” Pansy nearly growled, turning away from the one person she’d spent the entire season avoiding. “I’m going to murder you.”

“No, you’re not!” Ginny grinned, quickly locking the door that led back inside. “You love me too much! Even if you deny it.”

Pansy’s wand was already out, aimed at the glass door. 

“That won’t do anything,” Ginny said. “Neville helped me set the charms. You‘re trapped. There’s no escape. You can’t even fly.”

“What?!” Pansy exclaimed.

“Don’t bother trying!” Ginny glanced over Pansy’s shoulder, presumably speaking with Ron, who hadn’t made a single sound yet but seemed to release some sort of grunt behind her now.

Pansy had never actually participated in dark magic but at that moment she was so close to casting a Crucio, it didn’t even matter that she was trying to move on from her past, trying to make a name for herself. 

“Don’t be mad!” Ginny said, her hands raised. “It’s for you. Both of you! You need this! You can’t keep hiding and pretending like everything’s fine.”

Pansy forced herself to not panic, still turned away from Ron, and ran through every single spell she knew. She even contemplated the strange obscure ones she’d picked up from Draco and Blaise, certain that at least one of them would get her out of this situation. There had to be something. Anything. She knew that a simple Alohomora would do nothing but she tried anyway, too desperate to care, her wand out, pointed at the door.

“Alohomora!”

When nothing happened – except for Ginny glaring at her – Pansy panicked.

“Aberto!”

Still nothing.

“I’m telling you, it’s not going to work!”

“Aperta!” 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “The only way you’re getting out is if you answer the questions.”

“Questions?!” Pansy nearly screeched. It distinctly registered that she was the only one freaking out, that Ron hadn’t yet made a single noise. “What are you talking about?” 

“There’s a folded piece of paper under the rock on the bench,” Ginny explained cheerily. “Have fun!”

With that, she skipped away, fading into the house, leaving Pansy alone. 

Alone with one person. 

The singular person she wasn’t ready to face.

She contemplated casting a series of spells again, just in case, but decided against it. She’d already made a fool of herself. She turned around slowly, locking eyes with the tall figure standing much closer than he’d been just moments ago.

“Did you know?” She couldn’t stop the accusatory tone from slipping out.

Ron raised his brow. “Did I know my sister was going to trap me here with you to play Merlin only knows what game when I arrived? No, Pansy. I didn’t know.”

He said it so matter of fact that she flushed, slightly embarrassed, not sure what to say next, how to respond. 

For a moment, the two of them stood there in silence, an ocean between them. She looked away, afraid to look at him, but sneaked a glance when she was certain he wasn’t looking.

He looked the same but different, standing there with a nonchalance that she couldn’t access herself in his proximity. It had only been a few months since she’d actually seen him, making sure to get out of every single social interaction she knew he might make an appearance. She couldn’t deny the fact that she still found him attractive, that he still managed to stir a reaction within her that no other man ever had. She didn’t know exactly what it was about him. Sure, he was good looking; tall, with those soft blue eyes, somewhere between a sapphire and baby blue, and those famous Weasley freckles, cinnamon spattered across his face. She didn’t know if it was his smile, the way his lips tugged up at the corners, or the way he looked kind even when he was angry or upset, like he seemed to be at this moment, that made her feel even more attracted to him now than she’d been months earlier.

“I’m sure she’ll let us out,” Ron said. “If we scream loud enough.”

Pansy barked out a laugh. She couldn’t help it. He looked so serious, like he was actually considering spending their afternoon screaming at a giant mansion, that she contemplated it herself.

“Alright,” she said, mainly because she did want to release a string of profanities in hopes that Ginny would hear them. “Let’s do it.”

“Ginny Weasley, I am going to MURDER you,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Longbottom, I’m going to make you WATCH!”

Next to her, Ron said nothing. She turned around and glared at him, noticing the small smirk on his face. 

“You think this is funny, do you?” 

“No,” he said, his voice full of amusement. “But that certainly was.”

She glowered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“How are you so calm right now?” 

Why? She wanted to ask. Why aren’t you freaking out? Why aren’t you yelling at me? Telling me you never wanted to see me again.

“It’s Gin,” he shrugged. “No amount of screaming will help. We’re not getting out of here until we do what she wants.”

“Then,” Pansy sputtered. “Why did you say we should scream?”

He grinned, looking so much like that playful version of him she’d once known that she had to glance away. 

“Just wanted to see if you’d actually do it. You always were so good at listening, weren’t you?”

His voice was low, a bit rumbly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, ready to retort when he turned and walked away, leaving her there, feeling like a mess. 

“Let’s just go see what’s under the rock,” he said. “The faster we do this, the sooner we’ll get out of here.”

She hesitated, her feet also frozen on the ground where she stood, before she followed him, slowly, reluctantly. She didn’t want to give in so easily. She was certain there was another way out of this predicament. There had to be. She had all of her magic at her disposal. What good was magic if not for letting her avoid situations she didn’t want to be in?! Except, Ron was already picking up the rock, unfolding the sheet of paper, a frown on his face.

Too curious for her own good, she stepped forward.

“What is it?”

“A questionnaire,” he replied, holding out the parchment.

“A questionnaire?” She repeated.

Ron sighed. 

“You know, that ridiculous thing she did with Neville on their first date. The 36 questions to fall in love.”

“Oh,” Pansy said, quickly scanning the sheet of paper. She’d heard the story countless times but only really vaguely, never enough to know the full details. The questions were a bit absurd, inane, definitely not first date material but that was Ginny and Neville. 

“Ron,” she started, not entirely sure what she wanted to say, where she was going with this, just needing to get the words out for the sake of saying she tried. “Maybe we should just talk instead.”

The last time she’d seen him was shortly after everything had imploded, and since then she’d harbored this guilt, this feeling that had begun to infest and rot within her limbs. If the fates – Ginny’s meddlesome nature – had forced them together, perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst idea to discuss what had happened. Except, it seemed Ron had no interest in doing such a thing.

“No. Let’s just do the questions,” Ron sighed. “Then we can leave.” 

He didn’t even sound frustrated or exasperated. She didn’t know whether it was because he’d grown up with Ginny, knew all of her shenanigans, or because he was unaffected being close to her. She didn’t feel unaffected. In fact, it was almost like she was experiencing every single emotion on the spectrum all at once. She blinked, forcing herself to breathe through her nose again.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Just like when she’d been preparing to arrive except now she needed to calm her nerves more than ever.

Ron walked away, taking a seat on the bench, and looked up at her.

“Go on then,” he said, waving his hands toward hers where she was clutching the questions. “The faster we do this, the faster it’ll be over. It’s not like it’s going to work, anyway.”

The last bit he said quietly, just under his breath but she still heard him, unable to stop the pang of hurt in her chest. It wasn’t that she wanted to do the questions but his dismissive tone, the way he seemed so eager to be away from her – though she very much wanted the same thing herself – made her pause, want to prove something. 

“Pansy,” Ron said. 

She blinked again. She hadn’t heard him say her name in months, though occasionally, in the middle of the night, hands inching toward the apex of her thighs, she thought about it. Thought about what it would be like to hear him breathe her name into her neck as he brought her an unsettling amount of pleasure. 

She cleared her throat, eyeing the garden, trying to find a place to sit. She couldn’t be too close to him. It already felt like they were too suffocatingly close. She walked away from the bench, toward the large willow tree in the center, and settled against the trunk, folding her legs underneath her.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll read out the questions and we can take turns answering them.”

“Fine,” Ron acquiesced. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “First question. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

“That’s easy,” Ron replied. “The Captain of the Cannon's.”

Pansy rolled her eyes at his answer. Some things never changed. “Of course that’s who you would pick.”

Ron said nothing, just eyed her, and she flushed, realizing she’d resorted back to that comfortable version of herself she’d always felt around him.

“You?” He asked. “Who would you want as a guest?”

She chewed on her lower lip, giving the question some considerable thought. It was an interesting question, more interesting than she’d thought or could remember Ginny mentioning. If she was going to do this, she decided, then she’d at least be reflective about her answers. There were a few people she’d invite to dinner.

“Clermont-Tonnerre,” she settled on.

Ron nodded slowly. 

“So you can ask what inspires him,” he continued. “No. Wait. You’d want to know more about his company’s sustainability policy.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her hands tightening around the sheet on paper in her hand. 

It was quiet, neither of them saying anything, her watching Ron, Ron watching her. 

She’d forgotten that Ron knew her, that they’d spent mornings and afternoons together, talking about their hopes and their dreams, their plans for the future. Before…Before she’d fucked it all up.

She looked away, trying to force away the emotions creeping into her chest. There was no place for them here.

“Let’s do the next question,” she said. 

Ron nodded slowly.

“Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“No,” Ron replied immediately. “Fuck. No. Not for anything. The War was enough, being plastered all over the Daily Prophet for all the things we did. Everyone was whispering about Harry, about Hermione, about my entire family, and everywhere I went, I overheard the most awful stuff.”

“You didn’t list yourself,” Pansy noted. “You were part of that.”

She’d fallen into it too, the trap of misjudging the Weasleys, all of Ron’s friends, due to the things she heard from her parents, from Draco and her own group of friends, from other Pureblooded families, even the occasional Rita Skeeter article. 

“I hated it,” Ron shook his head. “It was horrible. I can’t imagine experiencing that every single day for the rest of my life.”

“Well,” Pansy replied. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll always be famous, the three of you, for saving the Wizarding World.”

Ron shuddered, continuing his rant. “I feel bad for Gin. She can’t catch a break.”

Pansy nodded. Though she didn’t follow the sport, she knew enough about it from Ron, Draco, Blaise, and even Ginny herself. She also knew about the constant harassment Ginny experienced being captain of the Harpies, the way she was photographed without her consent everywhere she went, the insane and incorrect gossip that constantly revolved around her and Neville, that followed all of the Weasley’s still.

“I would want to be famous,” she said instead of expressing her thoughts. 

Ron gaped at her.

“For my sense of fashion. My business. Philanthropy. For good reasons.”

Ron grunted, not saying anything else, and she took it as a cue to move onto the next question.

“Okay. Next. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

“Telephone?” Ron repeated. “Like that muggle device Hermione’s obsessed with?” 

Pansy nodded. “I have one too, you know. It’s quite useful.”

Ron shook his head, eyes wide. “Since when do you have one? You didn’t have one four months ago...”

The reminder of the last time they’d spoken, actually seen each other lingered in the space between them, a seismic wave.

Ron blinked as if just realized what he’d said and glanced away. 

“Never mind. Let’s just answer the question. I wouldn’t rehearse.”

“I would.” Pansy said.

“Really?” Ron replied, turning back to her with curiosity. “The Pansy I know … knew… would have just said what she needed to say and ended the conversation.”

She shrugged. “Things change.”

The truth was, he wasn’t wrong. A few months ago, she would have spoken her piece and moved on. But she’d become a little faded, less confident, less self-assured. 

“I can’t imagine you using a Muggle device,” Ron continued, oblivious to her inner monologue. “Yes, well,” she clarified. “It’s pretty advanced, there’s got to be some sort of magic involved. Don’t tell Granger I said that though.”

Ron chuckled, a short huff leaving him, an inkling of a smile on his face. 

She craved it, she realized. She wanted to see him smile again, genuinely, the way he had with her months ago, even if it wasn’t the same way it would have once been. Especially since she didn’t know if she’d ever have that version of him again. Certainly not after the damage she’d caused.

“Right,” she glanced back down. “Question four. What would constitute a "perfect" day for you?”

“Now?” Ron asked.

Pansy nodded. 

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “I suppose tickets to a Cannon’s game. Dinner at the Burrow with everyone I love. My friends, my family, my partner.”

She tried not to blink at the words “my partner,” though the urge to know what he meant, if there was someone, already someone else, in his life crawled down her throat, the taste of bile rising in her mouth. 

“Now,” she said, instead. 

“Huh?” Ron grunted.

“You asked now,” she explained, not sure what compelled her to ask. “What about before? Would your answer have been different if it was a different time?”

“Yeah,” he responded, locking eyes with her. 

She waited for him to continue.

Ron sighed. “I would have said any day with you.”

Oh. 

It was the way he said it, so simply. easily, readily, that hurt. What hurt more than that though, was the realization that his answer was different now than it would have been a handful of months ago. Her heart ached, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to will them away. She couldn’t cry. She refused to.

“What about you?” Ron asked.

The perfect day. What would constitute a perfect day? Maybe a day where she didn’t fall into the abyss of self-depreciation and regret? A day where her thoughts didn’t spiral, hyper-focused on whether she’d messed up her life, her future, the only chance she’d had at love, real love. No. She couldn’t say all of that.

She didn’t know whether it mattered or not, how honest she was. If the charms would be able to sense that she was being deceptive or intentionally difficult. It was a defense. One she’d grown up with, one that she was comfortable with, and one she fell back on. 

“A fashion show,” she said. “Where I’m the best dressed. Where everyone comes up to me and asks me what I’m wearing and I can respond and say that it’s my brand, that I designed it.”

It was a superficial answer at best, barely plausible at worst. It wasn’t her most perfect day. Not even close. She’d given those up when she’d given him up. But it was all she had going for her and it was true that such an interaction would bring her joy, so it was the closest answer she was ready to give. But a quick glance at Ron revealed that he wasn’t fooled. She could lie to many people but not him. Never him. 

He didn’t say anything, just continued to eye her wearily with a hint of sadness on his face. He sighed then stood up from the bench, beginning to walk around the Garden.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at her curiously. “Walking?”

“Why -” She didn’t know why it was important for her to know, why she felt so untethered by the small action. “Why?”

Ron paused midstep, glanced at her like she’d grown a head in the three seconds since he’d last looked at her.

“Why?” He repeated. “What do you mean why?”

“Forget it. Never mind,” she turned her gaze back to the questions.

“I just wanted to stand,” he said softly. “I won’t come near you.”

“No!” Her eyes shot up. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t saying don’t come close. I just …”

She didn’t know what she’d meant. It had just felt startling. 

“It’s alright,” she assured him. “You can come near me.”

He paused again midstep, looking at her wistfully, before he continued moving.

“What’s the next question?”

“When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?” She read aloud.

“In the shower this morning,” Ron replied quickly. 

Pansy paused, thinking. 

“I can’t remember,” she finally responded.

“What?” Ron furrowed his brows at her. “You used to sing all the time. It drove me nuts. Merlin, you were so terrible.”

Pansy scowled at him. “Just because we aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean you get to be mean!”

“I’m not being mean,” he said, teasingly. “Just realistic.”

She continued to scowl at him, too insecure to detect the hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Sing now.”

“What?”

“Sing now. Come on.”

“No,” she shook her head adamantly. “I’m not doing that.”

“Come on. I promise I won’t poke fun. Here, I’ll even sing with you.” He started out quietly, singing their song, the same one they’d spent hours listening to, starting and waiting on the other person to join in.When they were together, Pansy heard it almost every morning as she walked into the kitchen and every time she caught him in the shower. His voice dropped low as he reached the chorus, and she started harmonizing with him as if out of habit, the words coming to her almost instinctively.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride

But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?

Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true, ooh

When will you realize Vienna waits for you?

Ron turned around and smiled. It wasn’t a full smile, not the one that reached his eyes, revealing his crows feet, but it was enough. Enough to make her sing louder, fall into the beat of it.

“Remember,” he murmured, his voice soft and nostalgic. “We said we’d go. For our ...”

He trailed off but she understood. They’d only talked about it day and night; about wandering through the cobblestone streets, visiting the Cathedral, the Belvedere where they’d recreate The Kiss. 

Now, as he turned and looked at her as if he was mourning what they’d lost, the life she had given up on, Pansy felt the prickle of tears sting her eyes again. This time she was helpless to it, unable to stop the tears from shedding. She glanced away, trying to discreetly wipe her eyes, hoping she wasn’t being obvious, that he was no longer looking at her.

When she looked up again, he’d stepped closer, his eyes on the sheet on paper over her lap. 

“I can ask the next few questions,” he said, holding out his hand. 

Pansy handed over the sheet of paper, noting that a single teardrop had managed to fall onto it.

“If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?” He read aloud. 

“Body,” Pansy replied.

“Body,” Ron echoed.

“Well, that one was easy,” he chuckled.

Pansy shrugged. There was nothing else to say. They were young and vain, and the idea of aging loomed ahead like death itself. 

“Alright,” he continued. “Next. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”

Neither of them said anything and again, Pansy deliberated her response. Is heartbreak too much to say too soon? She couldn’t imagine how he’d respond to that. She wondered if he would finally break, finally yell at her, say something, anything. 

“I thought the War would do it,” Ron answered. “There were so many moments that felt like I, we, had actually died before I awoke again. Every time, I felt more and more confident that this would be the last time. There was that Wizard’s Chess during first year, the Whomping Willow, The Battle itself. Merlin only knows how many times I thought mum would actually murder me, not to mention Ginny and her hexing habits.”

He chuckled as he recounted the memories, the serious mixed in with the silly, and she envied him then. Envied him for his ability to be so … damn goodnatured, lighthearted, even in the face of literal death itself. She’d always loved that about him. She’d loved so much about him. 

“What about you?” he asked, shaking his head. 

“The War,” she said. “It was scary for all of us. My parents … They weren’t the best people but … We were all afraid.”

Ron nodded solemnly like he really understood what she meant, as if he could. Her emotions moved toward resentment. She was jealous of him for a different reason entirely now. He’d at least had a family that cared about him, that didn’t consider him mere property, worthy only in transaction.

No. She couldn’t fixate on that. It wasn’t his fault. Ron deserved the world on a platter after everything he’d experienced during the War.

For a moment, both of them were silent, lost in their own memories, their own subjectivities. The energy shifted. It had been tense and awkward before but now it was fraught with grief, loss, sadness. 

“Or probably another one of Draco and Blaise’s ridiculous plans,” she offered, trying to lighten the mood.

Ron chuckled. “They’re almost as bad as Fred and George were, those two.”

Pansy smiled, thinking about her idiotic best friends. They were absolutely mad, causing some sort of ruckus everywhere they went primarily for amusement's sake, and she loved them. Perhaps it was their attempt to reclaim youthful play, the type of fun they’d never gotten to have due to their families and restrictive Pureblooded upbringing.

Ron smiled back at her and the grief she’d felt just moments ago faded into the background. 

“Okay. The next question says to name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.”

“We’re both trapped here,” Pansy started, glowering. “And we’re both stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he denied. 

She simply arched an eyebrow in response.

“I’m not!”

“Like you’re not being now?”

He glared at her and she grinned. 

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. “We’re both stubborn.”

“What else?”

“We’re both protective of our friends,” he offered.

She nodded. “I’d do anything for them.”

“Me too,” he said. 

“Good. Next question then.”

Ron glanced down at the paper. “For what in your life do you feel most grateful? Oh. That’s easy. Family.”

She’d known it before he’d said it. She’d known it the instant she’d heard the word grateful. It came easy for him, this concept of family, but it was new for her, something she was still trying to wrap her finger around, define for herself.

“I wish I had a family in the way you do.”

“You did,” Ron replied. When she looked at him, his face was turned. He was looking at the flowers across the yard, the daffodils and daisies that Ginny and Neville had recently planted. 

“It was different,” she said. “Your family was kind and sweet. You know I loved them but they weren’t my family.”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “They were your family. As much as they are Harry’s and Hermione’s. I wish you could have seen that, accepted it, how much everyone cared about you. Mum loved you. She still asks about you every Sunday dinner.”

Pansy blinked. She hadn’t been aware of that and she didn’t know what to do with the sudden wave of emotions.

“Oh.”

“We…” He stopped, hesitated like he was considering his words, whether he wanted to say them. Pansy remained silent, not wanting to push him. “Never mind.”

Curiosity crept into the fabric of her skin, an aching need to know what he’d been about to confess. But Ron was already moving on.

“If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”

“Nothing.”

“Everything.”

To be expected. She’d already told him countless times about what it was like to grow up inside Parkinson Manor, how stifling it was, how she felt confined to social roles she didn’t actually care about, an identity she was much too young to fully understand, how she hated that her sole obligation in society was to perpetuate the very traditions she wanted to dismantle.

“Growing up in The Burrow wasn’t perfect,” Ron said. “There were too many of us in such a cramped space. I couldn’t even fathom the concept of privacy. It was loud and chaotic and so many other things I could list but it was ours. It was fun. Mum was overbearing at times, but she made everything fun, special. Dad would always bring home these Muggle gadgets, and Fred and George were always up to no good.”

He laughed and Pansy smiled, having witnessed the chaotic good of the Weasley’s in action at The Burrow.

“I like to think,” she started. “That every day at The Burrow felt like that Sunday dinner where your dad showed off the Muggle device that plays music. The NANO?”

Ron laughed, a full belly laugh, and Pansy couldn’t help but join, thinking back to that night, how fun it had been to watch Arthur try to figure out how to use the device with Hermione’s help, how excited he had been, a sort of youthful excitement, before he’d screamed, startled by the direct noise in his eardrums. 

“It was,” Ron confirmed. “It was exactly like that.”

Pansy watched as his chest moved with every inhale and exhale as he walked around. Something about the action made her feel comfortable enough to open up, to confess.

“It wasn’t all bad for me either. Just … misplaced. Like it was all meant for a different Pansy, or a different version of me, not who I was. I had fun, occasionally, during the moments I could spend time with Draco and Blaise. They didn’t understand everything though. It would have been nice to have more girls around. I only really became friends with Daphne and Astoria later on. I suppose that’s something I would change.” 

Ron nodded in understanding. It wasn’t anything he didn’t know. She’d complained about the lack of female friendship in her life earlier on in their relationship and he’d taken it to heart, planned all of these outings and social events with Hermione and Ginny and, Merlin, even Luna Lovegood. It had been sweet, how much he’d cared, even when he’d only just met her.

“Alright. Next question,” she said. “I’m ready.”

She meant it. She was. It was fun, in a way. There was nothing special or out of the ordinary either of them had talked about so far. That was difficult to do with how much life they’d shared in recent years, the amount of time they’d spent together But it was nice to be nostalgic together, to revisit joint memories in this way, the spectrum of emotions included.

“Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.”

“Four minutes?” Pansy repeated, startled. “That’s a long time.”

“Reckon we can do it in two,” Ron suggested. “Let’s try.”

“Alright,” Pansy said, stretching out her legs where she sat. Maybe it would be a good idea to move, walk a bit. She stood up slowly, shrugged when Ron eyed her movements, and began to move around. 

“Let’s see,” she mused. “Nothing you don’t already know. Grew up in Parkinson Manor, had a tyrant for a mother, a father who was obsessed with a fascist dictator, was prescribed all of these ignorant, bigoted takes which I then internalized and ridiculed others, such as yourself, for not following. What else? Oh, tried to hand Harry over to the Dark Lord. I did apologize for that, right?” 

“You did,” Ron nodded. “Many times.”

“You don’t think Harry still hates me, do you?” 

“He never hated you. We’ve talked about this. We were all just kids, Pans.”

No. Not her nickname. She wasn’t ready to hear it. She didn’t want to hear it. Because then she’d think it meant something, like … Like there was a possibility, a future, and she knew, knew, that there wasn’t.

“Well … All of that happened and then I left town, disappeared for a bit, tried to make a new name for myself. Came back to London, ran into you, and …”

And she couldn’t say the rest. It was too much.

“And the rest is history,” she concluded quickly.

“Yeah,” Ron whispered. “It is.”

“Your turn,” she tried to redirect.“Life story.”

“Well,” he said. “More or less the same, from the other perspective, with a lot more chaos involved.”

“I’m still not convinced I know everything,” she said.

Ron laughed. “Hermione says Draco says the same thing.” 

“It’s true. I mean, we dated for three, almost four years, and I’m positive that I only know a fraction of what the three of you got up to during Hogwarts. Granger and Rita Skeeter, for example. How did I just learn that from Hermione?”

Ron shuddered. “I forget how terrifying you lot can be.”

“You lot?” She raised her brow.

“Yes,” he clarified. “Women.”

He said it so seriously that she laughed. 

“Alright,” he said. “Next question asks if you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

“I’d want to go back in time,” she said quickly. This was something she thought about often. About what it would be like to go back to that night in February.

“Where?” 

“That’s not the question,” she avoided answering.

Ron said nothing for a while, just glanced at her like he was expecting her to say more, and when she didn’t, he sighed.

“I’d... I don’t know,” he frowned. “When I was younger, I wanted so many things. To be Head Boy. Captain of the Quidditch team. Better than my brothers. All of that. I don’t care about any of that now though. I feel pretty content with what I’ve got, what I’m able to do. Besides, we’ve got magic.”

“Alright,” she said, walking past him. “My turn to ask the questions again.”

Their fingers brushed as he handed over the parchment and Pansy tried not to think too much about it. She wasn’t that touch-starved. Was she?

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”

“Crystal ball,” he repeated, walking past her. “Like Trelawney’s? You know, I never really believed in that.”

“You still have to answer,” Pansy said. “For posterity’s sake.”

“Well, I guess I’d like to know if I have a family in the future. One of my own.”

Pansy froze, not sure if the answer was directed at her, or whether he was just being genuine. Except, Ron wasn’t spiteful like that, and she knew how important family was to him, how much he wanted one of his own. She was reading too much into it. He was just being honest in his answer. Nothing more. Not everything was about her. 

Right?

“What about you?”

She didn’t know how to answer. She wanted to know many things. Would he ever forgive her? Would things be okay between them - the way they had once been? 

“I’d like to know if my business will be successful.”

“How is it going?” He asked. 

“Good,” she said. “Blaise is still helping me with the business plan. I think I’ll be ready to launch in a few months. Maybe in the fall or winter. October. Or November.”

“That’s amazing,” he replied. “Congratulations, Pansy.”

“Oh,” she waved away his acknowledgement. “There’s nothing to congratulate me for yet.”

“That’s not true. I know how hard you’ve worked on this. I was there, remember?”

He was. He’d been there every step of the way when she’d started; through all of her anxieties, her meltdowns, the version of herself that she never showed the world; he’d seen it all. He knew how much it meant to her.

“Hermione was wearing a blue sweater at the last Sunday dinner,” he mentioned. “She said you designed it.”

“She was?” Pansy blanked, trying to think of what Hermione could have been wearing. She hadn’t seen her in a while. “She did?”

Ron nodded. “She does that a lot. At first I thought it was to see if she could get a reaction out of me. Her, mum, and Gin, they’re always conspiring, you know. But she said she’d gotten it from you before we … Before we broke up. That she just hadn’t worn it before.”

“Oh.” That was sweet, in a way – the fact that his friend’s interest in her business had nothing to do with whether or not she was dating Ron, not that she’d felt like that, not exactly. 

“Well, anyway, I’m glad to hear it’s going well.”

“I’ll make a note to send Hermione a new piece,” she thought out loud. 

“I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“I’d offer one to Ginny too,” she said, her voice increasing a few decibels as she turned back toward the Manor. “But I’m going to kill her right after this!”

If the sentient house could have responded, she was certain it would have defended Ginny’s honor. Behind her, Ron chuckled.

“Moving on,” she said, glowering a bit. “Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it?”

“Well, besides all of the obvious, I really want to beat Ginny at Quidditch,” he smirked. “Just to see the look on her face.”

She shouldn’t have asked. She already knew. But the words spilled out of her anyway.

“What’s the obvious?”

Ron glanced over at her from across the yard, a slightly incredulous look on his face.

“You know.”

She did. She did know. Maybe she needed to hear it again, just to punish herself a little more.

“Tell me again.”

“That’s not a good idea,” he said instead of answering. “Just answer the question, Pansy.”

She was gluttonous for punishment today, it seemed.

“Apologizing to you,” she answered, watching him move through the space.

Ron froze again, his entire body tensing.

“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I know I’ve already apologized and I know that apologizing doesn’t change things or make any of the pain go away or–”

“It’s fine,” Ron interrupted. “We don’t… Let’s not… Let’s just continue with the questions.”

He sounded fatigued, the momentary joy and energy she’d glimpsed within him as he’d been answering the questions slowly dissipating, making space for the mistakes between them.

“Ron,” she tried again. “Please. Let me apologize.”

“You have,” he said. “I don’t need another apology, Pansy. Not anymore. I need … Merlin, you never even told me why. You never gave me an explanation.”

No.

She hadn’t.

She’d been too afraid, too much of a coward. It was her anxieties, her fears and worries about the future that she’d been unable to share with him. He would have been fine with it. She knew him. She knew how he would react, that he’d be patient and kind and understanding, the way he always was.

“I…” she started to say, wanting to say so much, confess everything but the words escaped her. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Ron sighed wearily,  and it felt worse than if he’d yelled at her. Anger she could understand, accept. She’d grown up on it. Had been raised by it. Disappointment, though, was something she couldn’t handle. Disappointment was the one thing she was afraid of.

“It’s okay.”

‘No it’s not,’ she wanted to scream. Nothing about this is okay. I ruined everything. Don’t let me absolve myself. 

“Just,” he said. “Please. Can we just finish this? Can you read the next question!”

Her hands shook as she lifted the paper, reading. 

“What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”

At least her voice remained free of a stutter, the giveaway of how affected she was by this, by him. 

“Starting anew,” she answered. “After the war. Getting a second chance.”

The double meaning of the words settled between them but still, neither of them said anything, Pansy looking to Ron for a reaction, Ron glancing away.

“What about you?”

“The War, of course. Can’t outdo that. But beating Nott at Wizard’s Chess comes close,” he grinned.

She laughed. He’d been so intense that day, the most serious version of himself. Ron Weasley and Wizard’s Chess were not things to be messed with. She’d gone with him to the event, some sort of tournament he’d been invited to. It was mostly for fun, to see him in his element, be there for something that brought him joy. It wasn’t like she’d thought he’d lose, not exactly, but neither of them had anticipated for him to win so many times, and especially not against the Master.

“That was a fun day,” she said.

He finally looked at her, his blue eyes darker than usual, glinting with something she had once been familiar with, his voice just the slightest bit hoarse when he spoke again. “And night.”

She flushed.

After they’d gotten home that night, they’d had sex, over and over. Sex with Ron was always good, sometimes playful, sometimes intense, always perfect, but that particular night, it had been… more. Just more. He’d been so happy and they’d just fallen into bed. She’d felt so connected to him, so in sync, their bodies moving rhythmically in a sensual dance. He’d made her laugh then he’d made her scream. 

“And night,” she agreed. 

It was the first time either of them had alluded to any sort of intimacy between them since it’d all fallen apart, and she almost resented it, how easily her body reacted just to the memory of it. Mentally, she could deny it all she wanted but her body couldn’t hide how she responded to him.

He continued to watch her, his eyes flicking over her face, and she reached up in a self-conscious move to smooth down her hair. 

“Don’t.” He said. “Leave it.”

Her hand dropped almost automatically, back onto her lap, and he nodded back at the questions.

“Right,” she cleared her throat. “Moving on. What do you value most in a friendship?”

“Loyalty,” Ron replied.

Pansy nodded. “Loyalty.”

“Honesty,” he continued. “Fun.”

Pansy nodded again. All good values to have.

“Okay, easy,” she said. “What is your most treasured memory?”

“Treasured?” He paused for a minute before continuing. “The first time I conjured a patronus.”

“You actually never told me about that before,” she said. “What did you think about? Was it the Cannons?”

He glared at her for a moment, unamused, before he chuckled.

“No. It wasn’t the Cannons. It was a few things, I guess. Something ridiculous Fred and George had done. I also thought about winning the Quidditch Cup sixth year, about Harry and Hermione too. The first time Harry stayed over at the Burrow, we snuck down to the kitchen to search for snacks. We weren’t even doing anything, just hungry, and it was just an ordinary event but I felt happy.”

“I miss seeing your Patronus. It would always brighten my day seeing that little guy.”

Ron paused then reached into his jacket, bringing out his wand. He pointed it at the air, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

“Expecto Patronum!” 

The Jack Russell Terrier sprung out, leaping around in small circles. 

“Hey, buddy,” Ron smiled. “Can you say hello to Pansy for me?”

Pansy had barely blinked before the flash of silvery light made its way across the yard to her. She was envious, for a moment, at how quickly, how easily he would still conjure a patronus. How, even in a situation such as this, where he was stuck with his ex, the person who had jaded him, he could still channel happiness. But that was Ronald Weasley, annoyingly optimistic. 

“Hello Pansy.”

Pansy grinned. 

“Hey you,” is all she managed to say before it sprung away again. She glimpsed over at Ron who was still smiling and tucking his wand back into his jacket.

“I’m still jealous you can do that.” 

“You can too,” Ron said. “You were so close.”

He’d spent all of last summer trying to teach her, the two of them going as far as listing every single happy memory she could think of, so many of them moments they’d shared together. 

“I don’t think a series of sparks count as a Patronus,” she sighed. “Maybe one day.”

Definitely not now, not when her heart felt ill most days and she couldn’t conjure the motivation to get out of bed let alone a happy memory.

“What’s your most treasured memory?” Ron asked.

Every day I spent with you, she almost said. The ordinary mornings, the Sunday dinners, the time spent with your friends, our friends, before it all crumbled. 

Before I ruined everything. 

She couldn’t say that. 

“The summer after the War,” she said. “You know the story.”

He did. She’d told him about it on their first date all those years ago. Their lives had collided once Draco started dating Hermione. They had gone on their first date early May, after establishing a flirtatious camaraderie, something she’d never expected to happen with a Weasley. At the restaurant, she’d told him about how after the War, she’d travelled to Italy with Draco and Blaise, needing an escape, some time to sort out what she wanted to do next. 

They’d spent the summer in a small port city, surrounded by the sun and water. It’d been the most fun she’d had in her life; even the ridiculous plans Draco and Blaise thought up on a daily basis, trying to make up for their lost youth, couldn’t ruin the peace. It was that summer when she began to feel like she finally had something that was just hers, something worth protecting, living for. It seemed like the summer had had a similar affect on Draco and Blaise and when they returned home, they each dedicated themselves to their crafts; Draco to potion-making, Pansy to fashion designing, and Blaise supporting the both of them with their respective businesses. 

The story she told Ron on that first date still brought a smile to her face now.

“Tuesday morning,” she started. “My birthday.”

“Draco and Blaise snuck into your hotel room,” Ron continued. “You don’t remember giving them the card.”

“I don’t. I’m pretty sure Blaise just conjured up a new one.”

Ron nodded. “You were still asleep.”

“Knocked out,” she laughed. “I still don’t know how they managed to set everything up without waking me.”

“Silencing charms,” Ron theorized, the same way he had years ago when she’d told him the story for the first time. 

“Probably,” she shrugged. “Anyway, when I woke up, there were balloons everywhere, streamers, banners, lights, gift boxes, every decoration you could think of scattered around the room.”

“You were shocked,” Ron said. “Confused. You thought it was a prank. Forgot it was your birthday.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “They’d done so many ridiculous things on that trip, I wouldn’t have put it past them. It ended up being one of the best moments of the entire adventure.”

“The feeling of joy and spontaneity,” Ron nodded. “You mentioned you’d never felt that before.”

“Not like that.”

“Now, every morning on your birthdays, you sneak into each other’s homes and do that,” Ron finished. “Merlin, I remember the first time it happened when we were living together,”

Pansy laughed, the sound echoing around them, as she remembered the startled look on Ron’s face when he’d woken up that morning. She’d been expecting it, had even warned him about it, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d been so confused, still half-asleep, but so ready to protect her against potential danger that it had made the day even more special. 

Now, as she moved through the Garden, her lips quirked up, recalling all of those memories. A peek at Ron revealed that he had a matching smile on his face. 

Here,” she said, walking past him. “Your turn to ask. We’re halfway there.”

Ron accepted the paper and read aloud the next question.

“What is your most terrible memory?”

“Oh,” she said. “Easy.”

Ron raised his brow.

“February 14,” she said, intentionally not looking at him. “This year.”

She didn’t know why she kept trying to direct the conversation there, not when she was the one, who just seconds ago, had screamed at the house about how she was going to murder Ginny for trapping her with Ron. It was her who had avoided having a real conversation about what had happened, her who’d changed the topic every time it came up.
Ron stayed silent, and she wondered how he would respond. If he would respond. She wasn’t trying to bait him, truly. It was just the truth, her honest answer to the question. Sure, there were memories with her mum, all of those years wishing she’d been born into a different family, a different mother, but even that couldn’t compare to how terrible she’d felt that night.

“I know yours,” she continued when he didn’t respond. “The War. Christmas Day. The Burrow.”

At first he didn't respond and she looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah,” Ron frowned. “That's certainly one of them."

Oh.

The response felt like a knife to the gut. She knew exactly what he was referring to. It was the same moment she'd been thinking herself.

"But you're right. That day-There were many moments where I was certain we were going to die, but that one was the worst.”

Pansy remained quiet, unsure what to say. It dawned on her suddenly that though they’d spoken about the War before, it had been dismissive, waving away the details with a simple it’s over now.

“We never really talked about the War,” she thought out loud.

“What do you mean?”

“The entire time we were together, we never talked about it. Not like this. We talked about The Battle of Hogwarts briefly and about our friends, our families, occasionally our anxieties during that time but we mostly just… moved on.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron shrugged. “There was no use in remaining in the past when our entire childhood had already been taken from us.”

“I know,” she said. “I just… I wish I had known.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “So I could apologize.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ron said simply. “You didn’t start the War.”

“Well, no,” she continued. “But I…’

“No,” He shook his head. “None of that. Let’s focus on the questions. Come on. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are living now? Why?”

Pansy thought about it for a moment. “I would be more fearless.”

“Yeah? What’s that mean?”

“I’d take more risks, say the things I want, not worry about how other people are perceiving me or whether I’ll be successful if I collaborate with such-and-such person. I’d just… be content with what I have, live in the moment.”

That had been easier to do when she’d been with him. There was something about the easygoing Weasley nature that she envied and could never properly emulate herself.

“You can do that,” he said. “Starting today. What’s stopping you?”

“I’m not going to die in a year?” She replied, the statement coming out as a question. “At least, I hope not.”

Ron shook his head. “Isn’t it better to take risks so you can enjoy living?”

“Said like a true Gryffindor.” 

It’s not that she didn’t want to take risks. She did. She’d taken plenty in her life thus far, but something about doing it now felt more paralyzing to her for some reason.

He shrugged. “Life is too short to not do the things you want to.”

“What would you change?” She asked curiously.

“I’d,” he sighed. “I’d be more careful, I guess.”

“Careful?”

“Protective. Intentional. With my time and love. I don’t know.”

She tried not to take his response personally, but she wondered if there was a subliminal message behind the words. There was so much she wanted to inquire, to understand, but she didn’t know if she had any right to ask, not anymore. He was avoiding looking at her now, his eyes glued to the paper.

“Alright. Let’s answer the next question. What does friendship mean to you?” He looked up. “Everything. It means everything.”

Pansy nodded. “I agree. Draco and Blaise aren’t just my friends. They’re family. My chosen family.” 

Were it not for them, she was sure she would have spiraled into some sort of mess, or worse, become the expected Pureblood prototype.

“Easy,” he said. “Next. What roles do love and affection play in your life?”

He looked at her as he asked and she froze. Love, affection, intimacy. It had been a huge part of her life only months ago, when they’d been dating, but since then, it was almost like she’d retreated into herself, become more introverted. It had been easy and simple with Ron. He was such an affectionate person that, in the beginning, she’d found it daunting, almost unsettling. Now she missed it. Craved it.

“I,” she began, taking a steadying breath. “I feel like I have less of it now since we ended things. It’s important to me though.”

“Love and affection are two of the most important things in my life,” Ron answered plainly. “I’d die without them.”

He wasn’t even exaggerating. She knew it was true. It was just who he was. 

The need to ask surfaced like an itch that she felt compelled to scratch. She needed to know, even if it was painful. She hadn’t been with anyone, not since February. She couldn’t even bring herself to go on a date. There was no one else for her, even if she’d made a huge mistake and burned everything they had.

“Have you…” 

Been with anyone since? 

The words remained unsaid but lingered between them. She didn’t need to say more, explain herself. He understood exactly what she was asking.

“No,” he said, then paused, before asking. “Have you?”

She shook her head, relief spreading through every atom of her being at his response. It didn’t mean anything, not really, but it felt reassuring somehow.

She stopped in the middle of the yard, realizing that they’d both just been walking in circles, passing each other occasionally, but not taking in their environment at all. It was beautiful, the Garden. She could tell that time, effort, and love had all gone into creating it. It was bursting with flora, with plants that she couldn’t identify herself, even a few well-placed trees. At the center was a small statue, a fountain, and right by the door, in the corner, there were two small bowls set out. They must be for Sprout, the small orange tabby Ginny and Neville had adopted a few months ago. Ginny had joked it would help them prepare for children in the future. It reminded her a bit of the Garden at Malfoy Manor. There was a garden in her family home as well, though she’d never spent much time there. 

Now, as she looked around, she realized how peaceful it was. Even the lingering weirdness between her and Ron couldn’t deter from the beauty of their surroundings.

She bent down, close to the flower bed, and breathed in deeply, taking in the floral scent. Tulips. They smelled sweet, like honey, and earthy, like grass. She closed her eyes, relishing the moment.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Her eyes fluttered open, genuine happiness on her face. She didn’t register the silence until she glanced around, locking eyes with Ron. He was watching her with a soft look. It was nothing new. She’d seen it countless times– before. It was the look he’d give her right before he kissed her. He was so dramatic sometimes that she’d see that same glint in his eyes and tilt to his lips at an event, a dinner party, and then he’d be marching right over to cradle her face and kiss her.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he’d always say right after.

“What?” She said now, feeling self-conscious again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ron shook his head. “Nothing. Just… You’re beautiful.”

She couldn't look away from him, their eyes  locked in an intense exchange. She wasn’t unfamiliar with yearning, not since the past few months, but she felt it so intensely now that it almost frightened her. She missed him every day, all the time, but now, with the short distance between the two of them, she missed him more than ever.

“Ron,” 

“Fuck,” he said, running his hands through his hair. It was longer now than it had been a few months earlier. Not as long as Bill’s, though she imagined it would probably get there in no time. She wondered if it was intentional or he just hadn’t gotten around to cutting it. She’d had to sit him down once or twice throughout their relationship and have a go at it herself. 

She thought about saying something else, about trying to open up the gate again, though they seemed to be oscillating between acknowledging the past and ignoring it, when Ron cleared his throat.

“Share something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items,” he said.

“That’s easy,” she said quickly.

Ron raised his eyebrow but said nothing more.

“You’re kind,” she continued. “One of the kindest people I know. Loving. Merlin, how is it possible to be this loving? You’re brave. Idiotically so sometimes. Funny. Intelligent. Charming. Optimistic. And you’re encouraging. I’ve never had anyone believe in me as much as you do. Did. ”

“That’s eight,” Ron said. 

“What?”

“You listed eight.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I could list ten more. You’re very lovable.”

Again, he said nothing, and the question of why then lingered between them, unsaid. 

“So are you,” he said. “You’re smart and ambitious and fuck, fearless. I know you don’t think so but you are. Independent — probably to a fault but it’s admirable.”

Pansy blushed. “Thanks.”

She was not unused to being complimented but most of the time it was something purely physical.

“And bold,” he said. “You’re bold.”

“Really?”

“You are,” he said, matter-of-fact. 

She didn’t feel very bold. That felt more Ron than Pansy. He was the one who was daring, spontaneous. She was more careful, more intentional. It wasn’t wrong or bad. She didn’t dislike those qualities about herself. It was just another way that they differed. Not the same, and yet, somehow compatible. 

“Well, thanks,” she said, wishing she could see the version of herself that he saw. “You’re bold too. Look, that's ten.”

She grinned at him and he huffed in response, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile that he tried to hide from her.

“Here,” he handed over the parchment, their fingers brushing against each other again. “Your turn to ask.”

She accepted the piece of paper and read aloud the next question.“How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people's?”

No. She absolutely did not feel that way.

“Very close,” Ron answered. “As you know. I would say besides the War, it was pretty happy. We had our occasional rifts and conflicts. Hard not to, with all of the chaos of so many people in a small space but it wasn’t always like that. I sort of miss it now. It’s why I love Sunday dinners.” 

“I was always envious of your family, you know,” she said. “Even at Hogwarts. Even when we judged you, I still envied you. I never really wanted siblings, not actually, but sometimes I would see you all together and it made me wonder. It seemed like fun.”

“They’re still your family, Pans.”

It wasn’t true. No, they weren’t. Maybe potentially once. But not anymore. Even if Ginny did incessantly nag her to socialize, even if she did receive owls from Molly, they would always be his family, first and foremost. She’d given up every opportunity for another possibility to exist. She wondered if he knew that Molly kept in touch, or tried to, if they talked about her. Maybe it was best that she didn’t know. 

She didn’t reply. She knew that he’d refute her comment no matter what she said. 

“My family’s not close. We never really were,” she answered quickly. “My childhood was fine in the sense that I never lacked anything, I got everything I ever wanted, at least materially, but the one thing I desperately craved– love, affection– I didn’t have at home. It was cold. Sterile. Lonely. If it wasn’t for Draco and Blaise and later, Daphne and Astoria, I would have been miserable. They made everything feel normal, even when it was the most abnormal time.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Harry and Hermione helped with that too. Even during the War, being with them sometimes, and my siblings, it still felt normal, like we were still kids up to no good, having crazy adventures. Sometimes, that’s what I convinced myself was happening.”

“Better than the reality of death constantly looming over us.”

“Way better.”

“It was fun, you know,” she said. “Mixing all of our friends together. I always thought it would be a disaster but if anything, it was entertaining. Seeing everyone interact whilst trying not to murder each other or regress to teenage tendencies.”

She laughed thinking about it. 

“It was. We could still have that,” Ron shrugged. “If you stopped avoiding it.”

She knew he was right. That part of her life, her friends, their friends, were still there. It felt daunting though, something she wasn’t ready to face.

She nodded instead of answering and Ron frowned. 

“I mean it.”

“I know,” she said. 

He looked at her expectantly like he was waiting for her to continue but she looked away, retreated into the safety that was in front of her and read aloud the next question.  

“How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”

“Great,” he said.

“Terrible,” she answered at the same time.

It was nothing new. Their lives varied in many ways but their families were one of the biggest differences. She’d cut off her family shortly before she’d left for Italy, and since then, though she received the occasional passive aggressive note from her mother, didn’t keep in contact with her parents and had no interest in doing so. After the War, they’d done everything they could to save face. Yet, behind doors, their Pureblooded prejudices continued. So, it was good riddance. Even Ron, in all of the years they had been together, hadn’t met the Parkinson Matriarch and Patriarch. If she had any say in the matter, and she very much did, he never would. He’d already met her true family and somewhere along the way had also become her family. 

It had been nice to have Molly in her life as meddlesome as the woman could be. She missed having some semblance of a maternal figure. But there was no use in dawdling on that now, not when it made no difference, not when she couldn’t have that after everything that had crashed and burned. 

She glanced at the paper, reading aloud.“Make three true "we" statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling…’”

She paused for a moment. “Do you want to start?” 

“We can alternate.”

“Alright. Sad.”

Immediately she felt sadder than she was.

“Awkward,” she said.

“You feel awkward?” 

“Don’t you? We’re being held hostage here against our will to do this.”

“Well, it’s fun though, isn’t it? The questions are interesting.”

They were, she couldn’t deny it.

“Fine, not awkward… Strange.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“No, it’s not!” 

Ron shook his head and she almost giggled. She never was able to instigate him for too long. 

“My second word is sad,” he said. 

“Can I use the same word?”

He shrugged. 

“I’m going to use the same word.”

He sighed a bit, his exasperated sigh, before he said. “Hopeful. That’s my last word.”

She thought about it for a moment. 

“Grateful,” is what she settled on. “My final word.”

Ron eyed her curiously. “Grateful.”

She nodded. “I know it’s strange but in a way, and you can never repeat this to her, I’m glad Ginny locked us in here. If she hadn’t, I would have continued avoiding you. We might have never talked again.”

“That’s impossible,” he said. “Our lives are too intertwined for us to avoid each other. Draco and Hermione are likely going to get married."

They would. She knew it. Draco had mentioned wanting to propose to Hermione only several hundred times. Still. If there was a will, there was a way. She’d managed to avoid him in the last few months, making up excuses for every social gathering she knew he’d be present at, not yet ready to face him. She could continue to do it after this. Except… she didn’t want to. Being there with him made her want to never leave the Longbotton Garden. Again, momentarily, briefly, so brief it’d already passed, she felt grateful that Ginny had locked them there together.

She didn’t want to linger on the topic of proposals, of weddings and futures and families, so instead she read the next question. “‘Complete this sentence: "I wish I had someone with whom I could share…’"

Ron didn’t respond, not immediately, and the words just spilled out, a desire to release them from within her.
“How alone I feel sometimes,” she said honestly.

“How much I miss and think about you,” Ron answered in a low voice after a heartbeat during which Pansy felt her own heartbeat stop. 

“I miss you too,” she said softly. “All the time. It’s why I feel so lonely. All of these afternoons I’d have with you are now just there, empty, staring at me in the face, mocking me.”

“After February, after everything ended… I was a mess. You know that. I was drinking too much, talking about you way too much. I felt so alone too – even with everyone else around.”

“Has it gotten any better? For you?” It hadn’t, not for her.

“Yes. No,” he replied, looking right at her. “Sometimes. Sometimes, it feels like everything’s fine, like life will go on and I’ll be alright. Then, other days, I wake up, and you’re not there, next to me, and it feels like I’m going to die.”

She knew the feeling. It was the same for herself every morning.

“I miss you too,” she said softly. “So much. I miss how everything was. I wish…”

I wish February 14th never happened. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could muster up the strength to just tell you I made a mistake. 

Maybe she could, now. Maybe she’d never get this chance again. How difficult could it be to say she’d messed up? To tell him all of her hesitations, to confess that it wasn’t about him, as cliche as it was, it was about her. It was about her being an utter mess. He’d never agree. Never. It was still true though, even if he denied it, rejected it. She was a mess, and she didn’t want to sour his life with her nonsense. 

But she contemplated it, more seriously in that moment than she ever had before. What was the worst that could happen? 

She’d just motivated herself to confess everything when he spoke.  

“So what’s the next question?”

Oh.

Just like that, her willingness disappeared. She glanced down at the sheet of paper once more, the questions blurring in front of her.

“If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for them to know.”

“Hmm.”

“Well,” she laughed without mirth. “Does being jaded count as something you should know?”

“Don’t do that,” Ron shook his head.

“Do what?”

“Dilute yourself into the anxieties you have about yourself. You’re not jaded,” he said. “You’re everything, Pansy.”

It wasn’t true. She didn’t feel like she was everything. She felt like the complete and total opposite. 

“You’re just saying that,” she answered. Except that wasn’t true either. Ron never said things just to say them. He wasn’t that kind of person. It was one of the main reasons she’d fallen so hard and fast for him. 

“I’m not,” he sighed. “You know that.”

“Okay, then you should know that I’m really particular. With almost everything, to a fault.”

She couldn’t help it. It was her upbringing. She’d internalized the Pureblood standards she’d grown up with even when she didn’t fully agree with them, not anymore. 

“That,” he said. “I do know.”

“I’m assuming you still wear that ridiculous sweater.”

He grinned. “It’s less fun when you’re not glaring at me.” 

She glared at him then, mostly jokingly, and he grinned wider.

“That thing is an abomination. An insult to your fashion designer girlfriend,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“...Ex-girlfriend,” Ron murmured. 

She’d gotten so caught up in the moment that she didn’t even realize what she said. 

“Right,” she corrected, a flush traveling to her cheeks. “Ex.”

“Anyway,” Ron cleared his throat. “You should know that I can be reckless sometimes.”

She arched an eyebrow, staring at him coolly. “I think just about everyone in the Wizarding World knows that about you– and Harry, and Hermione.”

He grinned again. “Birds of a feather.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re going to fly too close to the sun someday.”

“What a way to go.”

Indeed.

“Okay, next question. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time.”

“I like that you always do the things you put your mind to. You don’t let yourself get sidetracked by mistakes. You just work harder.”

“I also spiral,” she almost said. 

Almost as if he knew what she was about to say, he held up his pinky finger. “No. Listen. It’s true. You’re so lost in your own head sometimes that you don’t zoom out to see the good; how smart and passionate you are. It’s admirable.”

Pansy blushed for the second time in the matter of minutes. It’s not that she wasn’t used to him complimenting her, that wasn’t it. She was. Back then, he’d given her as many compliments, affirmations, praises as the amount of breaths she took in a day, all of them sincere. No, it was the way he said the words that made her flush, like time had not parted them, like there was no lingering tension or awkwardness.

“Thanks,” she said, trying to ignore the flutter of feelings in her belly. The urge to touch him, to run her hands through his hair, anything arose to the surface like 

“I love that you’re always yourself,” she said easily. “I can’t describe it any other way. You’re just you, no matter what happens.”

“And I’m amazing?” He quipped, a smirk on his face.

She rolled her eyes but laughed. “Yes. You are. Humble, too.”

He chuckled and she couldn’t help but grin.

“How many more questions?” Ron asked.

She scanned the paper. “A few more. Seven. No, eight.”

“Alright. How about you ask the next three and I can ask the last five?”

She nodded in agreement.

“Okay. Share an embarrassing moment in your life,” she read next.

Neither of them responded for a moment, thinking about their answers, before Pansy spoke. There were a few things she could name but perhaps, it was better to stay neutral in her answer.

“Well, trying to give Harry over during the War was quite embarrassing,” she answered. “In hindsight. Actually, it was a bit embarrassing then too.”

Ron didn’t say anything, still, and she frowned.

“Ron?”

“I–” He hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“When I proposed and you said no.”

Her heart sank into deep waters. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like she was clawing to come up to the surface but weighing herself down all at once. It was the first time, after a long time, that either of them had acknowledged it, that awful night in February.

He looked at her now, sadness written all over on his face.

“I-I keep pivoting back and forth between wanting to know why and wanting to just bury it, let it go. You said no. You made your choice. I need to accept that you don’t want a future with me.”

“That’s not true,” she rushed to clarify. “I did. I do.”

His voice cracked. “I loved you, Pans. I wanted a future together. A family. Children. Everything!” 

He shook his head again as if he was reliving it. 

“I just -“ He ran his hands through his hair. “Why? I thought we were on the same page. That you wanted the same things.”

“I did. I do,” she repeated.

“Then? Why?” He looked so exasperated, so perplexed, so heartbroken.

Everything she had to say would sound like rubbish. To a certain extent, it was rubbish. How could she put her fears into words when they had both grown up so differently? How could she tell him that the one thing she wanted with him was also the one thing, the only thing, she was the most terrified of in the world? 

“It’s going to sound stupid,” she said, a bit pathetically. “I-I got anxious. You-You’ve got this great family. Everyone loves each other so much that sometimes, truthfully, it sickened me. I couldn’t understand it. Nobody should be allowed to love another being that much is what I would always tell myself. It didn’t make sense. Because if it did, then I had to confront the fact that - that my parents didn’t love me, not really.” 

She sniffled, not even realizing that tears were spilling down her cheeks. “Which is scary. I always thought they loved me, in their own twisted sense of the word. But then you came, just crashed into my life, and showed me everything I was missing and it was amazing, beautiful, everything but it was also terrifying. I would always just have this sinking feeling, that the rug would be swept under my feet, that it would all go wrong and I would be a fool.”

“So you made me the fool instead.”

He said it with no malice. Just sadness. 

“No!” She cried. “I–“

But she had. In a way, to protect herself, she had. She’d made him the fool but it was really her who’d become the joke.

“You deserve a better version of me.”

He gazed at her in disbelief. “I love this version of you! And even if you think I don’t, it doesn’t matter Pansy. You want to know why? Because I’ll love every version of you.”

“You said ‘loved’ before.”

“What?”

“Before,” she pointed out, not sure why it mattered, why it was so important. “Past tense. Loved. And now you said love.”

“What do you want me to say? Like you don’t already know the truth. I love you. Of course, I still love you. I’ve loved you for the last four years of my life. I don’t - I don’t know how to not love you.”

“I love you too,” she said softly, genuinely. “I just… I was afraid and I messed it all up. Then I felt like a coward, an idiot, and dug myself further into the hole. The look on your face, it was… I felt awful. I thought it would be better to leave you alone, to not hurt you anymore.”

“You thought wrong,” Ron sighed. “I didn’t want that. I wanted, needed, to know why. I wanted us to talk but then, when you kept ignoring me, I started feeling like an arsehole. Like I was pushing you. Like I should just accept what happened and moved on. It seemed like that’s what you wanted.”

“It wasn’t,” she reputed quickly. “I didn’t know how to handle it so I did the only thing I knew how to do; I started avoiding you, pretending that nothing happened. I know – before you even say anything, I know it’s bad. I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s not bad. It’s–” He paused and took another deep breath. Pansy watched his chest rise and fall,  desperate to know what his next words would be.“We need to talk, Pansy. Actually talk.”

“I know,” she said. They did. She couldn’t deny it anymore. 

“You can’t run away.”

“I won’t.”

He eyed her skeptically. She didn’t blame him, not after everything she’d done. 

“I mean it. I promise.”

“Alright. We’ll talk.”

“Now?”

Ron sighed. “No. Later. Today’s been a lot. Let’s just finish the questions.”

“Oh,” she bit her lip. “Right. Okay, next question. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

“I can’t remember the last time I cried.”

“Oh.” Ron Weasley was a crier. He cried at everything. He cried when he was happy, when he was sad. He even cried at small babies, something she didn’t understand; babies were not cute. “So you’re happy then?”

“No. I didn’t mean that,” he explained. “The opposite. I haven’t been very good recently at being in touch with my feelings.”

Something about knowing that he was as emotionally impacted as she was felt comforting.

“I cry a lot these days. It’s not bad. It’s–” she answered truthfully. She’d cried more in the last few months than she had in the entirety of her life. It was like after February, the floodgates opened. The pain wasn’t even necessarily about Ron or them or their relationship. It was about everything. She didn’t hate it. It felt freeing. It felt … 

“Cathartic,” she said aloud. “It feels cathartic.”

“I’m glad,” Ron said. “Crying isn’t a bad thing.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not. Remember. You used to tease me for how I never cried.”

“It was weird, Pans.”

She shrugged. “It was how I was raised.”

“Well,” he said. “I’m glad you’re letting yourself cry now.”

She laughed. “What a weird conversation.”

“I mean it. I’m proud of you. I know it’s probably not easy.”

It wasn’t something she would have said or believed, or even done months ago, but she could understand it now; understand why people actually allowed themselves to release and process their feelings, something she had never been taught.

“Okay, last question and then you can ask the rest. Tell your partner something that you like about them.”

“Didn’t we answer this already?”

“Oh, so you don’t want another compliment?”

He raised his brow in response.

“I like that you’re forgiving,” she said, her voice soft.

“I like when you’re vulnerable,” he answered.

He looked at her with that sweet, tender, Ron look and her heart fluttered again.

“Here,” she said, moving closer to him. “Time to finish the questions. Then we can go murder Ginny. I’ll murder. You force Neville to watch.”

He snickered in response and accepted the parchment. 

“What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”

“The Cannons,” she replied jokingly.

Ron rolled his eyes. 

“Damn right,” he said.

“What about you?” 

Ron didn’t take many things seriously. Not necessarily in a bad way. It was just not his philosophy about life. 

“Death,” he said gravely.

Nothing else was said. Nothing more needed to be said. 

“So,” she asked suddenly, feeling brave. “Are you falling yet?”

“Falling?” Ron furrowed his brows and looked at her skeptically.

“36 questions to fall in love,” she raised her brow. “We’re almost finished. Are you in love with me yet?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and she thought he wouldn’t respond, that he’d sigh again, and just read the next question. Instead, he just looked at her, a mix of emotions on his face. Ron was easy to read. He wore his heart on his sleeve and right now that sleeve revealed an amalgamation of tenderness, sadness, and something else she couldn’t pinpoint.

“I’ve never stopped falling,” is all he said in the end.

She didn’t know what she was expecting. A yes or no, possibly – both of which would have hurt, made her heart ache. Yet, this answer was worse somehow. Gutwrenching. Maybe it was the way he said the words, like they were fact, like they would always be that felt more wounding.

“It’s scary,” he continued as she internally monologued. 

“What is?”

“Falling.”

She waited for him to continue.

“You think you’re going to stop somewhere, land safely, make it to your destination – prove that the journey’s been worth it. But this… Us. It’s madness. It’s neverending. It’s exhilarating. It makes me feel like I’m on the edge of my seat anticipating something but I don’t know what it is. Yet, I want it. I yearn for it. That’s what it feels like. With you, I never want to stop falling.”

“Still?” she asked.

“Do you love me?” He asked.

She didn’t even hesitate. Planets would need to collide before she stopped loving him.

“Of course I do,” she said as they brushed past each other. “I never stopped loving you. I’m still falling too.”

The sleeve of emotions changed colors, patterns; hope, nervousness. 

“Then let’s fall again,” he said, his hand around her elbow, pulling her back as she moved around the yard. “Let’s fall into each other. Just talk to me.”

“I want to,” she started. “I will. I– Do we even need to finish this silly questionnaire? Let’s leave. Talk somewhere else.”

Ron moved past her, toward the door leading back into the Manor, his hands on the knob.

“Locked.”

Pansy huffed and stomped over, her wand already out. “Alohomora!”

Nothing happened. She shook her head.

“Aberto!” 

Again. Still nothing.

“Aperta!” 

“Oh, come on! We’re working things out! Let us out!” She yelled toward the Manor.

“It’s no use. Not if Ginny is involved. She’s as stubborn as I am, apparently. Besides, we’ve just four more questions left.”

“Fine,” she said begrudgingly. 

“And then we can talk–” He held up a hand. “Yes, after you attempt to murder Ginny.”

She grinned, satisfied with that reply, and Ron read the next question.

“If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven't you told them yet?

“Easy,” she said, trying to be vulnerable. He’d said he liked that. She liked it too. It didn’t feel as awful as she thought. Not with Ron. Why had she been so nervous? So afraid? Could it really be this simple? “I would regret not telling you I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I do want a future with you. A family. Everything. All of it.”

“You’ve told me that already.”
“Well. I would regret not saying it again.”

“Hmm,” he mused.

“And you? What would you regret not saying?”

For a moment, he said nothing, the two of them still facing the door to the Manor. 

“Hw much I still want you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Pansy blinked, turning to him. She couldn’t deny it even if she wanted to. There was nothing more in that moment than to feel Ron’s lips on hers.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He didn’t hesitate. He just moved closer and cradled her jaw, cupping her face. The act was reverent, a complete contrast to the way he actually kissed her; desperately, urgently, despairingly. She felt her knees buckle and she gripped his shirt, trying to shift closer. His hands slid into her hair, brushing against the nape of her neck to hold her steady. They stood there for a long while, lost in each other, kissing and kissing and kissing. When they finally separated, Ron’s eyes were dark, lustful, and his lips, swollen, bee stung. She reached forward again, placing her lips against his. She never wanted to stop kissing. 

“Fuck,” Ron pulled away. “Wait.”

She paused, shuffled away. 

“Sorry,” she breathed.

“No,” he reached for her, pressing her against his body. “Just. Give me a minute.”

Oh. She bit her lip, feeling his erection against her. She giggled, unable to stop herself. It felt relieving, freeing, exciting to know that he was as affected by her, just from a kiss.

Ron huffed. 

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m not laughing at you. I just–” she grinned. “I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” 

“Well. Maybe not as happy as certain parts of you are right now.”

“Oh, bugger off,” he groaned.

She laughed again, the lively nature she’d experienced with him, embodied herself during their relationship, curling its arms around her. “Alright, alright.”

She pulled away, still laughing softly, as Ron fixed himself.

“Let’s just finish this bloody thing,” he groaned, looking down at the sheet of paper crumbled in his arms.”Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”

“You first.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Everything is replaceable.” 

For someone so sentimental, he could be so practical sometimes.

“Of course, you would say that. Come on, pick something. Anything!” 

“Alright. My Cannon’s Jersey,” he grinned. “My wand. My broom. My old chess board. The sweaters my mum knit.”

“One item,” she teased. “And you listed five. No. More. How many sweaters would that be exactly?”

He shrugged. “I’d save them all if I could.”

“I’d save my sewing machine,” she answered. “And that photo of us. The one on my bedside table.”

“Is it still there?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I love that photo.”
“Draco sure can throw a party.”

“Blaise would have your head, if he heard that. He was the true mastermind behind that night.”

“I don’t even remember half of it.”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “I think that was intentional.”

“But I remember having fun.”

The photo was from an event Blaise had put together. They’d spent the night dancing and drinking before sneaking into the Malfoy Manor, giggling and kissing against statues before they’d been discovered by Draco and Hermione – both of whom had snuck into the Garden for the same reason as Ron and Pansy. The couples had groaned at one another before Blaise demanded everyone come back inside, participate in a game he’d invented. Everything after that was a blur. 

Pansy sighed, hit with another wave of nostalgia. It had been a fun night, blurred memories and all. 

“Two more questions.” Ron said. “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”

Pansy shrugged. “My parents, I guess. I don’t know how I’d feel - which, honestly, is what feels disturbing. You?”

“Fred… I … I still find it disturbing. If I lost anyone else, I reckon I’d go mad. Actually mad.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

She thought he might move on, read the final question, but instead, he continued.

“It’s still weird,” he said. “His not being here. I can feel it. His absence, I can feel it all the time. During Sunday dinners. When we team up for Quidditch matches. Sometimes, even when I look at George. It feels weird to not see double.”

She squeezed his hand again, not sure what else to say, how to comfort him other than to just be there. She worried, for a moment, that perhaps she wasn’t being comforting enough, that she should say something more when he squeezed her hand back.

“Thanks,” he said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” she almost said. But it wasn’t about her.

She smiled gently and he turned back to the questionnaire.

“Last one. You ready?” 

“Ready.”

“Share a personal problem and ask your partner's advice on how they might handle it.”

“Hmm,” she said. “I’ve got something.”

He waited for her to continue. 

“A couple of months ago, I made a mistake. A really bad one. I let my fears take over and I lost the best thing that ever happened to me. Now, I have all of these regrets. All of these what ifs. What if I ruined the best thing that could have happened to me? What if-”

“Pansy,”

“What if, no matter what I say, or what I do, I can’t fix it? Undo what’s already been done?”

“Pansy,”

“What if I–”

“Mmph,” she mumbled as Ron kissed her again.

“No more what ifs,” he murmured, his forehead pressed against hers. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Okay.”

“Let’s go home,” he whispered. “We need to talk.”

She nodded. Home. Their old flat. The one he still lived in. That sounded nice. “We do.”

“We’re done here,” He took her wrist. “Answered all of the questions.”

“Wait–” she stopped. “You didn’t answer the last question.”

“My problem,” he sighed, “Is that I’m trying to leave, go somewhere private so we can talk. How do you propose we can resolve that?”

“Murder Ginny?”

He laughed, offering his hand. She accepted, lacing their fingers together, as he pulled her toward the door once again. This time, when he tried to pull it open, it moved. It actually moved.

They were free!

They’d barely made it back into the house before they heard the pitter patter of someone’s footsteps. Ginny stepped out from around the corner, eyeing them, her gaze flickering to their hands. Her face broke out into a huge smile.

“It worked?!”

“We’re leaving,” Ron replied, leading Pansy through the house.

“But -”

Pansy turned around and glared at Ginny, who simply frowned back, following them toward the Floo.

“Are you two together again or not?!”

“None of your–” Pansy started to say just as Ron brushed her into the fireplace and tossed Floo powder over them, shouting something. 

“business,” she spluttered, as they appeared in his flat, their old flat. 

She froze, paralyzed for a moment, unexpectedly hit with memory after memory. She hadn’t been there in months and though everything looked the same; the same furniture, the same colors, the same everything, it felt different. 

“Come on,” Ron said, leading her to the sofa she’d spent many, many afternoons and evenings on. “We have a lot to talk about.”

She took a deep breath.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She could do this. For herself. For them. For the love she’d surrendered out of fear. The love she wanted to continue

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